


An Assortment of Poems for Lily Evans

by clarewithnoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Humor, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Weaponized Poetry, it's fifth year so, just some hilarity and nonsense, little bit of Jily!, marauders map, rampant idiocy, sirius black the schemer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 22:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarewithnoi/pseuds/clarewithnoi
Summary: Mr. Padfoot would like to say a very enthusiastic hello to Miss Lily Evans, esteemed Gryffindor goody-two-shoes.“Excuse me?!” Lily hisses before catching herself—there isnoway she’s going to get kicked out of the library for arguing with...with a piece of parchment.  She takes a calming breath and looks around.  Once she’s sure nobody has heard her, she continues quietly: “whatisthis?”You see,the parchment says in dainty script,Mr. Padfoot would like to inform Miss Evans that while most of the esteemed Messrs mentioned previously have absolutely no sense of forethought, he himself (the superior of them) figured that this piece of parchment would somehow make its way into her hands.  This is most likely the fault of Mr. Prongs, but that’s neither here nor there.-OR: one day early in fifth year, Lily Evans accidentally winds up in temporary possession of a piece of parchment that talks.  This is Potter's fault, isn't it.
Relationships: James Potter & Lily Evans Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marauders & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 37
Kudos: 78





	An Assortment of Poems for Lily Evans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mppmaraudergirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mppmaraudergirl/gifts).



> for you, sweet MPP! thank you for being so lovely always!
> 
> (this fic based off of a Tumblr post I made about the Marauders Map, to be found here:
> 
> https://clare-with-no-i.tumblr.com/post/645842364018147328/clare-with-no-i-this-is-a-very-weird-and-niche )
> 
> enjoy!

If she’s to get specific about things, Lily would say that it’s actually Marlene’s fault that the piece of parchment starts chatting her up in the library.

Well, at the root of it all, it’s just as much Professor Sprout’s fault as it is anyone else’s—if the Herbology professor hadn’t assigned an entire roll of parchment on Fanged Geraniums in the _second_ _month_ of classes, Lily wouldn’t have had to scramble to the library on this sunny October Saturday, a monstrous pile of books in hand that she only exchanges for a _different_ monstrous pile of books when she arrives.

It’s also Sev’s fault, too, for choosing not to split the reading with her, instead spending the day with his _other friends_ holed up in the dungeons. But that part may be a bit more based in spite than anything else.

Then there’s James Potter, whose culpability in the matter is both obvious and undeniable. But she’s known him now for four whole years, and thus expects this type of thing from him, so she considers this rather inconsequential.

...This is all to say that Marlene’s participation in the unfolding of events _is_ rather significant.

You see, if Marlene hadn’t been chasing a charmed snitch around the Gryffindor Common Room this morning, then she wouldn’t have knocked into Remus Lupin while in heated pursuit of said snitch, and—as a result—wouldn’t have set of a chain bowling-pin collision of Remus, all three of his mates, and (of course) Lily, who was just hustling out of the girls’ dorm at that very moment, books and parchment rolls tucked in her arms.

This led to books scattered, five people sprawled on the Common Room floor, and the merry buzzing of a golden snitch over everyone’s heads that sounded distinctly like gloating.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Cried Marlene to the carnage.

These events also, unfortunately, led to Lily being near flattened on the wood floor below a very tall, very _unwelcome_ boy, who had the gall to push himself onto his hands—only about ten centimeters above her face—and say through a grin, “Alright, Evans?”

“Oh, just great, Potter,” she groaned, “peachy bloody keen. Now would—you—get— _off!”_

Of course he listened and hopped up immediately, and of course he picked up all of her books for her despite her protests, and of _course_ he handed them over with a bright, _I’m the Quidditch Captain_ smile. Of course he did.

She gritted out her necessary _thank-you_ and was on her way before she could watch him revel in her mild discomfort.

So—in summation—the aforementioned chatting-up is almost entirely Marlene’s fault.

But more on that momentarily.

As Lily sets her books down at a small, secluded table near the _Wizarding Robes of Antiquity_ section, she grabs the necessary materials to begin compiling sources on Skele-Gro potion (the most noted usage for Fanged Geraniums, as everyone knows), her quill and her inkpot and a few spare bits of parchment upon which to jot down notes.

She turns to dip her quill in ink, idly using the other hand to flip to the relevant page of _Herbology and You._ She’s about to write her first bit of research down when she finally chances a glance at the parchment she’s using and, subsequently, shrieks in fear.

Her parchment is alive. Her parchment is alive, and it’s yelling at her.

 _NOT FOR WRITING! PUT THAT DOWN, PLEASE_ is written in big, bold letters through the center of the page.

“What the—!?”

In an instant, the words fizzle into nothingness, leaving Lily to wonder whether she’s even seen them at all. She has a brief moment of self-reflection that consists of checking her temperature (no fever), shaking her head back and forth (no dizziness), and blinking her eyes (still functioning), before looking back at the folded parchment.

“Er...hello?”

A few seconds pass. Nothing.

Is she...seeing things? Surely she isn’t _that_ stressed out by this essay.

Just as Lily’s about to pack up her things in order to make a quick trip to St. Mungo’s for a much-needed checkup, words appear once again in the middle of the page, though this time they’re not a warning—for all intents and purposes, they look like the opening credits to a film. She squints at the writing and runs a hand over the creases in the parchment to smooth it over.

_Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present…_

_WAIT._

Lily’s eyebrows shoot up. What, so now the talking parchment isn’t sure of itself?

 _Mr. Padfoot would like to say a very enthusiastic hello to_ _Miss_ _Lily Evans, esteemed Gryffindor goody-two-shoes._

“Ex _cuse_ me?!” Lily hisses before catching herself—there is _no_ way she’s going to get kicked out of the library for arguing with...with a piece of _parchment_. She takes a calming breath and looks around. Once she’s sure nobody has heard her, she continues quietly: “what _is_ this?”

 _You see,_ the parchment says in dainty script, _Mr. Padfoot would like to inform_ _M_ _iss Evans that_ _while_ _most of_ _the esteemed Messrs mentioned previously have absolutely no sense of forethought, he himself (the superior of them) figured that this piece of parchment would somehow make its way into her hands. This is most likely the fault of Mr. Prongs, but that’s neither here nor there._

Well. Lily has no idea who the bloody hell _Padfoot_ is, let alone _Prongs_ , so she has no way of confirming or denying this presumption.

“I—”

She frowns. The paper can’t hear you, Lily, she reminds herself, stop trying to talk to it.

The parchment continues.

 _Should you want to see the wonders within this document, all you’ll need to do is tap the_ _front with your wand and repeat the following words._

Lily reads the line below and fails to suppress a scoff. “Alright,” she murmurs, “this is either a very petty cursed object or there’s someone writing this all in real-time.”

Only one way to find out, really. She takes out her wand and points it at the offending parchment.

 _“_ _Revelio!”_ She whispers.

Nothing happens—until a few words slither across the page in a lazy, curved drag from left to right that wobbles up and down like a sailboat against a slew of small, lapping waves.

 _Not a cursed object,_ the squiggling words read.

It might as well add, _you idiot!_

With the distinct sensation of being ridiculed by an inanimate object, Lily tries once more. She’s ruled out dark magic, so that must mean there’s a person writing this all in like a shared journal.

 _“_ _Homenum revelio!”_ She tries. Once again, nothing happens. She waits almost petulantly for the next derision from _Mr. Padfoot_ , and she’s not disappointed.

 _No, not that either,_ it says, _and to be quite frank, Mr. Padfoot is disappointed that Miss Evans thought that would work a second time._

Whoever this Padfoot is, he’s severely lacking in manners.

She pauses. This is surely some stupid prank. It’ll probably explode on her, or cover her in some sort of dye, or turn her hair into seaweed. _Something_. There’s no logical reason for her to take the bait and open it. None at all. Especially when she has so much work to do.

She should just bin it like the logical, rational person she is, and get on with her day unperturbed by _Padfoot_ or any other talking writing implements.

Right?

The parchment disagrees.

 _Go on,_ it mocks her—literally, _you know you want to…_

“Sodding talking parchment,” she grumbles.

But, as loathe as she is to admit it, she _does_ want to. Call it an inquisitive mind.

So with an indignant huff that no one is around to hear, Lily taps her wand against the mysterious back-talking parchment and whispers the desired incantation: _“I, Lily Evans, am a certified buzzkill.”_

_Mr. Padfoot thanks Miss Evans for her honesty._

Before she can tell it to bugger off, the piece of parchment unfolds and _unfolds and unfolds_ , to the point where she has to scramble to grab her quill and pot of ink from the table before they’re knocked over by the massive yellowed sheet.

...A massive yellow sheet with nothing on it.

“Oh, come _on!”_ She moans. “Are you—”

Lily cuts herself off. Large, capital letters are forming at the center, in the same script as before. She can feel her eyebrows inching toward her hairline as the sentence emerges in full.

 _AN ASSORTMENT OF POEMS FOR LILY EVANS,_ it says. The subtitle continues in slightly smaller text: _curated by the owner of this incredibly valuable parchment_.

“Poems?” She breathes. “What in Merlin’s name…”

Before she can finish, the first poem appears.

_There once was a prefect named Lily_

_Whose choices in mates were quite silly_

(“Hey!”)

_She’s a bit of a swot_

_With that red hair she’s got_

_And she yells at the students quite shrilly._

Oh, bog off, she thinks. Try staying in the same tense next time.

The words fade—as all others have. As Lily once more debates shutting the damned thing and throwing it in the bin, another poem emerges; this one longer. She’s halfway to ignoring it— _whoever’s bleeding_ _prank parchment_ _this is, I hope they won’t miss it—_ but the title catches her eye: _A Sonnet for a Pretty Redhead_.

“God,” she mutters dryly, “this should be good.”

On she reads.

_She walks each day with grace and poise and wit_

_O how I wish those eyes would fall on me_

‘ _Tis tragic that she thinks of me a git_

_For what a lovely couple we would be…_

_I sit in class and think of her all day_

_Sweet Lily, with the eyes so very green_

_My mates think it’s a pitiful display_

_But I’m in love—who cares if I’m fifteen!_

_I hope this message finds her very well_

_(And nowhere near that odd Snape fellow, too)_

_But moreover I hope that she can tell_

_It’s her that I hope one day I can woo…_

_Dear Lily, can’t you see how much I care?_

_I love you nearly as much as my hair._

By the end of the last couplet, her face is positively and inescapably aflame. She’s quite sure that she knows who’s behind this. It’s just like him, really, to pull this elaborate of a scheme simply to embarrass her.

_Mr. Padfoot truly hopes Miss Evans is enjoying herself. He is absolutely giddy, if she was wondering._

_“Potter...”_

The message, and the dreadful sonnet, both fade. Thankfully.

This might be the strangest day Lily has ever had at Hogwarts—and that’s saying something, considering that the last week she had to spend three hours reading about the divorce rates of sixteenth-century leprechauns for a History of Magic assignment.

To her equal parts horror and amusement, a third poem emerges. Well— _poem_ is a generous term.

_L is for Loves Participating in Lessons_

_I is for In Denial About Her Feelings For A Certain Quidditch Player_

_L is for Lacking in Quality Male Friends_

_Y is for Y Don’t You Come and Watch Me Practice Sometime?_

“Oh, my _god_ ,” she says. The absolute gall!

Lily hasn’t even had time to process the nonsense of that terrible acrostic before it’s replaced by another poem. This one is entitled, _My Feelings for Lily: A Summary in Haiku._

“Agrippa’s sake…”

_You alright, Evans?_

_Looking very fit today_

_Go out with me, please?_

Okay. That is _it._

She doesn’t particularly feel like reading any attempts to liken her eyes to toads or her freckles to bits of dirt, or whatever _Padfoot_ ’s got in store, so she sends a brusque _Finite_ toward the parchment and sighs in relief when it begins to fold itself back up. Thank goodness; she _really_ hadn’t wanted to try and guess what the sealing incantation might have been.

But back to the matter at hand.

_Potter._

* * *

She finds him sitting with his three friends in the Great Hall, watching bemusedly as Peter and Remus engage in what appears to be a serious game of Wizard’s Chess. He’s resting his chin on one palm and bouncing his knee in boredom.

He really is absurdly tall, she thinks. She can see his feet nearly touching the other bench under the table.

“Potter!” She calls as she storms toward him. His head whips up at her voice, and at the sight of her, he breaks into a grin.

“Evans!” He says. “I must say, I quite enjoyed our rendezvous earlier, even with the bruise—”

Lily interrupts him with a very familiar rolling of eyes. “Oh, save it. I just came to give you back your parchment.”

“My parchment?”

“Your _parchment._ ” She thrusts the thing toward him with a glare. “And I must say, I don’t think love poetry is your forte. I’d refrain from calling the girl a swot next time—but that’s just me.”

“W— _what?”_ James snatches the paper and clutches it to his chest, but immediately after doing so, he blinks up at her, looking mystified. “What... _love_ poetry?”

“Unless professing your love in a sonnet is called something different nowadays.”

His mouth drops open—she can’t help but sigh. “Look,” she continues, “it’s not like I think you’re serious. But _Merlin_ , was it ever cringe-worthy. Not your best work, prank-wise.”

She watches as he opens and shuts his mouth about four times. His pallor more closely resembles that of Nearly Headless Nick than any live person she’s ever seen.

“I…”

At this moment, either blind to or willfully negligent of his friend’s visible panic, Sirius sends Lily a roguish grin from across the table. “Hullo, Lily,” he says with a waggle of eyebrows, “feeling particularly buzzkill-y today, are we?”

And...they’re back to regularly scheduled programming. She’d almost forgotten who she’s talking to. Peter and Remus have paused their chess game to look on in interest.

“Oh, piss off,” she says, “Gods, it’s good to know that if someone’s ever looking for the missing links in evolution, I can just direct them to your dormitory.” She pauses for a moment before turning to face her fellow prefect. “Not you, Remus.”

“Appreciate it.”

James has apparently not recovered from her assessment of his writing skills. He looks at her, and then quickly to Sirius—who’s currently stifling his laughter with limited success—and then back at her. This process repeats another time before she casts her eyes heavenward. _Merlin help me_.

“Evans, hang on!” He finally manages to decide upon a target audience; he turns entirely toward his best mate. From what she sees in her short glance his direction, his eyes are blazing. “Sirius, _what did you do?!”_

 _“_ _Me?”_ The boy puts a hand to his chest. “Why, nothing! I’ve no idea what you mean!”

This is just not worth sticking around for, Lily decides. Time to put it to a merciful death.

“Look, Potter,” she sighs, “you had your fun; I was thoroughly blushing in a secluded corner of the library. Huzzah for you. A triumph for idiots everywhere. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an essay to write on Skele-Gro.”

“Evans! Wait, hang on just— _Sirius, I am going to kill you I swear—_ EVANS!”

But she’s already turned on her heel. This essay isn’t going to finish itself, after all, and she’d rather not have to explain to Sev why she’d been seen fraternizing with Potter and his lot. She can only handle so many migraines in a weekend.

 _“_ _Peter_ _!”_ Lily hears James whisper-shout as she walks away. “I _specifically_ told you last week to put the password charm on it! For fuck’s sake!”

As she makes her way out of the Great Hall, she can’t help but admit with a small grin that—ridiculous pageantry of it all notwithstanding—this was one of his better attempts. Not _good enough_ , of course, but _better_.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! honestly, it was SO fun for me to write these poems - but a bit complex, LOL! It's Sirius pretending to be James writing poems for Lily...yowza.
> 
> drop a comment, tell me your fav line, etc! always appreciated.
> 
> as always, follow me on Tumblr for more tomfoolery and dumbassery! @clare-with-no-i
> 
> <3


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